


Cuckoo

by misura



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Proxima's people save only six human hatchlings from the place called the Silo.





	Cuckoo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



" _Six_?" Proxima rears to her full height, noting which of her enforcers are quick to cower and which resist. Moloch is last, as always: slow, stubborn Moloch.

A less tolerant matriarch would have drowned him years ago.

Proxima allows her distress to be seen. Human hatchlings are plentiful and hardly ever require any effort to be found. They come to her and she welcomes them as if they were her own.

"Your intelligence claimed there were dozens!"

Moloch shrugs. Proxima elects to be merciful and interpret it as a sign that he would slough off his clothes and armor and join her in the water, to spill his life's breath and blood in apology for his failure - except that she needs him too much.

"They saw us coming," he says. "They chose to kill the hatchlings they could not take."

Proxima dives under, where the water will dampen her screams. The waste! The stupidity! No Grindalid matriarch would have made such a choice. Let a hatchling be taken by an enemy, if it must. A true matriarch will have ensured its loyalty, thus trading the temporal loss of a hatchling for the acquisition of a spy. Of course, the enemy matriarch will be aware of the risk and seek to root out any and all remaining loyalties - that is how the game is played. That is how the strongest matriarchs rise to the top.

When she resurfaces, only Moloch remains, as is proper.

True, one cannot predict human behavior, but even so, there must be consequences for failure.

 

Of the six, two more die over the next few days. This, Proxima judges acceptable: hatchlings dying is a simple fact of life. Were all of her hatchlings to reach maturity, she would only need to cull them herself. Far better and kinder to let nature decide, or what passes for such on this planet.

Three vanish on various assignments. Proxima notes their chosen names and appearances, though she holds little hope of recovering them.

The sixth is named Qi'ra, and as days turn into weeks, Proxima allows herself to hope.

 

Weeks into months into years: Proxima's kind measure their lives in centuries, with the matriarchs content to sleep for years on end, to let the males and hatchlings fend for themselves. Not too long, of course; there are stories, cautionary tales of matriarchs who woke to find their tribes dead and gone, doomed to mix their blood with that of others.

Proxima has been forced to adapt. Human hatchlings require near-constant care and supervision. Her males, too, have taken on human vices, human traits, lusting after human trinkets, forgetting that all things must belong to the tribe, to Proxima. Males should not be burdened with possessions of their own, any more than hatchlings. It is too great a responsibility.

Qi'ra understands this. Qi'ra knows when she has brought back something of true value, and when she must apologize for the quality of her offering.

Qi'ra never protests her punishments, never questions her orders, never fails to show Proxima the proper respect. Proxima almost wishes Qi'ra were a Grindalid hatchling, rather than a human one, except that a Grindalid female would grow into a matriarch, a rival, and then Proxima would need to embrace her, to squeeze the life out of her and devour her corpse.

Far better that Qi'ra is human. She will never be able to command the males and other hatchlings as Proxima is able to, but in time, Proxima thinks, she might become useful. Valuable.

 

Han ruins things.

A male: it is practically inevitable. Proxima knows very well how a male may sway a female's head, even when they are both but hatchlings. She remembers her own youth, the constant need to hide her true intelligence, her true nature. The excitement of the first imprinting, the heady taste of power that came with taking a male and drinking his life until the very last drop.

Proxima does what she can to prevent Qi'ra from losing sight of her true purpose, allowing Qi'ra to spend as much time in Han's company as she wishes. A counter-intuitive strategy, but one Proxima has discovered to be surprisingly effective when it comes to managing her hatchlings.

Nothing stokes the fires of desire like forced absence. Nothing douses it like constant exposure.

Han is cocky, irresponsible. Disrespectful, though he puts on a good show, when he feels like it. A gambler and a risk-taker and a rebel: fine qualities, one and all, in a Grindalid male, but in a human hatchling, they are inconveniences. Flaws.

"You and Han seem very fond of one another," Proxima notes.

It is only her and Qi'ra, females conversing together while the males keep a respectful distance. (Moloch displays signs of jealousy, as if any male might aspire to a female's position.)

Qi'ra startles, as if she imagined her affections to be a secret. "Yes, my lady. That is, we are. Fond. Of one another. My lady."

Proxima wants to drag her into the water and coil around her and never let go, protecting Qi'ra from all the harms and hurts of the world. To murmur sweet nothings into Qi'ra ears and feel Qi'ra hands reach those parts of her body Proxima cannot reach on her own.

Males are only good for so much: true joy can only be achieved with another female, the pleasure of the mating heightened by the danger of the mating turning violent, of matriarch-in-truth turning on matriarch-to-be or vice versa.

Proxima has experienced that joy only once, bowing to necessity the second time, putting the good of all over her own gratification. A hard choice, but hard choices are a matriarch's lot - as Qi'ra may discover soon enough.

Qi'ra clears her throat. "My lady? You disapprove?"

"Silly girl. If I disapproved, you would know. I would have spoken." Proxima allows a hint of hurt into her tone. "My dearest Qi'ra." Proxima reaches out to stroke the growth on Qi'ra's head, though the sensation disgusts her. 

"Forgive me, my lady." Qi'ra bows her head.

"There is nothing to forgive." Proxima sighs. "It is only that I worry for you. Such promise. Such a pity it would be, to see you waste it all for the sake of a male."

"If you wish it, I will stop seeing him," Qi'ra offers. "My lady."

Proxima imagines bringing her face close to Qi'ra, tasting her skin on her tongue, and biting down. Unconscionable. "No." Not Qi'ra. Never Qi'ra. Han, possibly, one day, when his usefulness no longer outweighs his rebellious streak, as a lesson to the other hatchlings. "No, no, no. You overreact. Such a sweet girl." Too sweet, Proxima worries sometimes: being a matriarch requires cruelty as well as cunning, brutality as well as protectiveness. "You keep your eyes right where they are."

Qi'ra shivers. Proxima realizes that it is too soon, to expect Qi'ra to view her as a friend, a fellow-female. It is hard, to judge when a human hatchling is a hatchling no longer, and in spite of all her good resolutions, Proxima knows that she has coddled Qi'ra, spoilt her a little, from time to time.

Had Qi'ra come from another matriarch's nest, she might have justified it to herself as a way of ensuring Qi'ra loyalty. As things stand, Proxima knows it is only weakness, a matriarch picking a favorite hatchling.

"Come into the water," Proxima invites. "Come. Let me see you properly."

At least she can justify having taught Qi'ra how to swim.

Traditionally, of course, it is a male's privilege or duty to share a matriarch's water. This is a new world, though, and Proxima enjoys the subtle changes in the water's flavor and temperature when Qi'ra comes close, with her soft and clever hands.

It requires patience, to teach a human hatchling what comes naturally to a Grindalid male, but Proxima finds the end result well worth the effort. She has even made the effort to learn how to return the favor, as one female to another, to leave Qi'ra gasping, her pleasure flavoring the water, her body perilously close to drowning but for Proxima holding it up, cradled like a newborn hatchling.

Almost, Proxima wants to ask if Qi'ra could imagine Han doing this for her, but she judges herself above such pettiness and besides, Qi'ra is smart as well as lovely. She will do what is right.


End file.
